Hit and Run (24 page)

‘As I was saying,' Patrick said, his eyes brooking no further comments, ‘the illegitimate child has no right of inheritance from a putative father who dies intestate, unless …'

AnnaLise said a little prayer that Joy wouldn't pun ‘intestate' with the testicle she evidently wanted as her ounce – or two – of flesh.

‘… at least one of the following pertains.' Hoag cleared his throat and wiggled his fingers as though warming up for a piano recital. ‘
First
,' raising his index finger in the air, ‘the putative father has legally been declared the child's actual father – which includes, by the way, the mother and putative father marrying after the birth of the child.'

Joy seemed like she just couldn't help herself. ‘But that never happened here with any of them.'

‘Correct.' Patrick drove on. ‘Or,
second
—' His middle finger rose at its natural angle to near his index one.

AnnaLise shot a glance at Joy, who seemed ready to burst with some allusion to the middle finger's other meaning. But Joy managed to restrain herself, and AnnaLise mouthed a silent
thank you
.

‘The putative father has acknowledged the child as his own in a written document, signed before the proper official and filed in the proper court, at the proper time.'

‘And Hart did neither your “first”
nor
“second”?' asked Charity.

‘Except the second for AnnaLise,' Patrick said, obviously pleased to have a parrot-apprentice to balance out the heckling crow.

‘And now never can,' said Coy. ‘Given the man's dead.'

Eyes turned again toward AnnaLise, who was thinking furiously before saying, ‘But Hart didn't die intestate.'

Coy blinked. ‘What?'

‘Patrick said that an illegitimate child doesn't have the right to inherit from his or her intestate father. Dickens didn't die intestate. He had a will.' She turned to the lawyer. ‘Or, as you called it, an estate plan.'

‘Oh, very good,' Patrick said, pantomiming applause toward AnnaLise. ‘A man can, indeed, put an illegitimate child in his will. In fact, Dickens did exactly that with you, AnnaLise, as well as acknowledging you legally – thereby legitimatizing you – as in my second option.' He wiggled his middle finger.

‘But AnnaLise's status aside,' Charity said, ‘you're still saying Dickens Hart did
none
of these things to recognize the other potential heirs, correct?'

‘Yes. But only as far as it goes,' Patrick said.

‘Why didn't you explain all this at Thanksgiving dinner yesterday?' Joy demanded. ‘When everybody was up in arms about DNA and all.'

‘AnnaLise was so adamant about recognizing the other heirs, I thought it had become a moot point.'

‘What do you mean?' Coy looked like he was trying to follow, if lagging a bit.

Hoag drew in a deep, oratorical breath. ‘AnnaLise said at dinner yesterday that she didn't want the fact that Dickens had died to prevent Eddie Boccaccio and Tyler Puckett from inheriting, should they be able to prove their parentage.'

‘See?' AnnaLise brightened.

‘Generous,' Charity said approvingly.

‘Or sly diversion,' Coy growled. ‘Dickens Hart had already been killed, and she had to know she'd be the obvious suspect.'

‘Hey,' AnnaLise said, waving her hands. ‘“
She
” is standing right here. And, besides, didn't you say just a few minutes ago that I wasn't necessarily—'

‘Regardless,' Patrick continued smoothly, ‘I didn't bother going into all this at the time, because we were all drinking
and
it's complex and really had no bearing.'

‘Moot.' Coy was nodding.

‘Or, at least, not applicable. You see, if AnnaLise wanted to split her inheritance, she certainly remains free to do so.'

‘Thank you,' said the woman in question.

‘But on Wednesday night when Hart was killed, the others,' Charity checked her notes again, ‘this Eddie Boccaccio and Tyler Puckett, would have no way of knowing whether she intended to do that?'

Coy, head cocked at a different angle as though he had an infinite number of default settings on the cervical beltway of his spinal column, said, ‘That's right. Meaning those two boys, at least, had no obvious motive to kill Dickens Hart.'

‘Wait a second,' from AnnaLise, waving a hand, but nobody paid her any attention.

‘Coy has a point,' Charity was saying.

‘So what if they didn't know that AnnaLise intended to share?' Joy interrupted. ‘They still would have thought they could inherit by proving paternity.'

‘It's easy to go online and get a quick – if not as complete – answer to the question,' Patrick pointed out.

‘Leading us to the same conclusion,' Charity said. ‘If Boccaccio and Puckett
did
know they couldn't be legitimized, as you say, once Hart was dead, they had no reason to kill him. Just the opposite, in fact.'

‘He was Dickens Hart, for God's sake,' Joy said. ‘There was
always
a reason to—'

‘Charity's right,' Coy said. ‘Smart money would be on killing the man
after
you were in the will.'

AnnaLise stopped waving.

‘Like Coy was saying,' Joy tried, ‘Criminals are stupid. Maybe—'

‘If I might?' Patrick said it softly, which may have been why people shut up and paid attention to their newfound fount of wisdom.

‘Yes?' AnnaLise said politely.

‘I wasn't done with my explanation of the North Carolina General Statutes, concerning succession by, through and from illegitimate children.'

‘By, through and … from?' Coy quoted back.

‘For our current purposes,' Patrick continued smoothly, ‘I think it's best we just stick with “by.”'

‘Good idea, Patrick,' Charity said. ‘Assuming, that is, it has a bearing on all this. None of us standing here is getting any younger, you know.'

‘I think you'll agree it does have a bearing, if not a material difference.'

AnnaLise felt her eyes cross and, more like a judge than a suspect, intoned, ‘Proceed. Please.'

‘Now, I've already covered the ways a child can be legitimatized prior to the death of the putative father. Shall I recap?'

‘No!' the assembly chorused.

‘Good. Then I'll move on to my final point. A section of the statutes stipulates that no action shall be commenced nor judgment entered after the death of the putative father, unless the action is commenced either,
one
,' the index finger went up again, ‘prior to the death of the father.'

‘We've already gone through this,' Joy said in an agonized voice.

‘Or
two
,' Patrick waggled the middle finger meaningfully, ‘within one year after the death of the putative father.'

AnnaLise, perhaps listening more closely to the lawyer's analysis, thought she saw where he was headed. ‘So Eddie and Tyler have one year from yesterday to prove they have a right to part of Dickens Hart's estate?'

‘They do. Of course, there are other considerations, such as when a proceeding for administration of the estate of the putative—'

Charity mercifully interrupted. ‘Is it safe to say, Patrick, that Boccaccio and Puckett can still get
some
thing from Hart's estate, assuming they prove paternity within a year?'

‘And with DNA proof, even longer, beyond three years.'

‘You wanted a reason to kill Hart?' Joy said, nodding toward Charity. ‘There it is. And it's every bit as strong as AnnaLise's.'

‘Well, maybe not quite, but I see your point,' Charity said, as her smartphone dinged a text message.

AnnaLise was studying Patrick Hoag, not knowing whether to thank him or not. While misery might love company, a little clarity wouldn't hurt either. ‘Given the woman's overnight bag and Debbie Dobyns—'

‘Debbie Dobyns?' It was Hoag's turn to ask a question.

‘The chef,' Joy explained.

‘Ah, yes,' Patrick said with a smile on his face. ‘The Monroe-esque platinum blonde.'

Joy's eyes narrowed. ‘Did Dickens' smarmy soul move on to you at his passing?'

‘Me?' Patrick said. ‘No, but I am male.'

AnnaLise sighed. ‘
Anyway
, the “Monroe-esque platinum blonde” has disappeared. Why are we even talking about other suspects until she turns up?'

‘Funny you should say that,' Charity said, holding up the phone. ‘Guess who's just turned up?'

‘D
ebbie Dobyns is … dead?'

Charity Pitchford's brow wrinkled at Joy Tamarack's question. ‘I didn't say that.'

‘You told us just now that she's turned up. I thought maybe that was a euphemism, like she turned up her toes or,' Joy slid a glance AnnaLise's way, ‘washed up on shore.'

‘Noooo,' Charity said slowly, catching the interplay. ‘Ms Dobyns just landed at McCarran International.'

‘Has Las Vegas Metro picked her up?' Coy asked.

‘They have.'

‘Where's she been all this time?' AnnaLise asked. ‘According to Sheree, Debbie left the inn early yesterday morning.'

‘Apparently, instead of returning her rental car to Charlotte, she drove all the way to Atlanta and flew from there.'

‘Makes sense, actually,' Patrick Hoag said. ‘Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson is the busiest passenger airport in the world. There'd be plenty of nonstop flights to Vegas, versus only connections from Charlotte. Especially given her change in itinerary.'

AnnaLise asked, ‘Did Debbie have the brightly colored overnight bag with her?'

Charity shook her head. ‘Metro said she had a purple carry-on. A roller-bag.' The officer slid the phone back into her breast pocket and gestured for Coy to follow her inside, signaling the end of conversation on both fronts. The lawyer followed them into the house.

Joy turned to AnnaLise. ‘The smaller overnight bag is probably inside the wheelie, like you said. Besides, if she's willing to pull a purple bag through an airport, a flowered tote for overnight would seem right up her alley.'

AnnaLise mounted the last couple of steps and took a seat on the black, wrought-iron bench right of the door. ‘If you say so.'

‘Hey, cheer up,' Joy said, settling down next to her. ‘Even if it's not in her luggage, she could have disposed of it on the way to the airport in Atlanta.'

‘I guess so.' AnnaLise shifted. ‘This bench looks nice, but it sure is uncomfortable.'

‘Hart chose his furniture the way he chose his women.'

The reporter didn't feel a need to respond. After all, as one of those women, Joy was the expert. ‘The thing is that Debbie has no way of knowing that I saw the bag in Dickens' room.'

‘You're sure she didn't hear you?'

‘I can't see how. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running.'

‘Well, if she isn't worried that somebody saw the bag and could therefore use it to connect her to Hart's death, there's no reason that she'd get rid of it.'

‘Exactly.'

‘Good.' Joy patted AnnaLise's knee. ‘Then the police should find it in her suitcase. You can have only one carry-on in addition to your purse, you know.'

‘OK, I'll hang on to that thought.' AnnaLise stood up and drew in a familiar aroma. ‘Must be lunchtime.'

‘Can't even be eleven yet.'

‘I didn't have breakfast. If there's food in the kitchen, I'm eating it.'

‘Good to know you're not letting a murder rap hurt your appetite.'

‘Homicide rap,' AnnaLise emphasized, swinging open the front door. ‘Let's not convict me of something before I'm even charged.'

‘Who's been charged?' Phyllis Balisteri's face was anxious as she came out of the dining room.

‘Nobody,' AnnaLise said. And then, because she knew her surrogate mother wouldn't be satisfied with that: ‘But they have found Chef Debbie, so that's good news.'

Only Phyllis looked less than pleased. ‘Damnation. Did she wash up across from the restaurant?'

‘She was found—'

‘I
knew
I should have kept the place open this weekend,' Phyllis lamented.

AnnaLise turned to Joy. ‘Contrary to what one might think, corpses seem to be good for business.'

‘Why doesn't that surprise me?' came from the fitness trainer.

‘Chef Debbie isn't dead,' AnnaLise told Phyllis.

‘Then I suppose she'll want her kitchen back.' Mama was already untying her apron.

‘Afraid not,' AnnaLise said. ‘She's in Las Vegas.'

Joy nodded. ‘Though with any luck, she'll be back here soon.' A pause. ‘But not necessarily to cook.'

‘Speaking of cooking, something smells wonderful,' AnnaLise said.

‘Chicken spaghetti.' Mama still looked grumpy. ‘Though I made it with turkey, given those out-of-towners barely touched theirs yesterday.'

‘More for us,' AnnaLise said. ‘Is this the one with cream of chicken soup in it?'

‘And mushroom, since we had an extra can from the green bean casserole. And it's all just coming out of the oven. If you want to go in the dining room I'll have Nicole bring plates to you.'

‘Not for me, I just ate breakfast,' Joy said as Phyllis bustled off.

‘Come and sit with me anyway,' AnnaLise said. ‘I don't want to subject myself to more of Mama's questions and it'll be lonely in that big dining room.'

‘Better get used to it,' Joy said, following her, ‘unless you end up sharing it with your two evil stepbrothers.'

‘I don't think either of them is evil,' AnnaLise said, pulling a high-backed chair away from the table. ‘No matter what Daisy says about Eddie's eyes.'

‘Eddie's eyes?' Joy was rounding the table to sit on the other side.